


Hurt

by WahlBuilder



Category: Mars: War Logs
Genre: Age Difference, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Innocence is sick, but the pain is not only physical. Roy tries to help.





	Hurt

Roy walks into the afternoon-warmed room to find Innocence curled on the bed. Innocence is broad now—though not as broad as Tenacity, and mostly in shoulders, stretching his shirts finely,—and as tall as Roy himself. Innocence has gentle hands—not in the sense that they are without callouses, but in the way how their touch feels. The uncertainty is gone from it—almost—but the tenderness remains.

This is one of the mistakes people make when they meet Innocence: they look into his big eyes, listen to his soft voice and assume him naive—or they listen to the words he uses and see few visible scars and assume him a spoilt kid of some high functionary. He is neither.

Roy knows.

Innocence curls up tighter, arms wrapped around himself.

That’s a thing he does—or rather, _doesn’t_ : complain. However shitty or hard it gets, Innocence grits his teeth and ploughs on—until he either crashes or achieves whatever he’s set himself upon. Never complains, never asks for anything. Roy thinks that it must be the Army, and he knows well how difficult it is to unlearn that shit, to convince yourself that you deserve the help you need, that you can ask… That there are people who would answer the call. Sometimes, some people are bad at determining whether you want help or not—but they wouldn’t hesitate to give it.

It is ironic that Roy’s abilities and his training allow him to pick up on people’s emotions—immensely helpful with his inability to read faces—and give him tools to carry their burden… But don’t give him insight into the depths of their hearts. Sometimes, when they don’t tell him, he can’t decide whether to impose himself and pick them up—or leave them alone. Some would rather get crushed under the weight of their life than ask for help. He knows.

This has started a couple of days ago with Innocence having breaks more often than usual, with him not responding right away, rubbing his arms… Avoiding touch and sleeping away from Roy and Tenacity. Small things, but Roy has spent all his life paying attention to small things—and he _knows_ Innocence.

This is not only about the cold Innocence has caught.

Innocence hasn’t touched his sketchbooks or albums for a few days either.

‘I’ll make you tea if you want,’ Roy suggests, leaning on the doorframe.

Innocence stirs. He looks strangely small on top of the covers, one golden shoulder tenderly round under the undyed fabric of his shirt.

‘I’m all right, Roy. I’ll just have a nap…’

A cold is that bitch when sometimes your whole body aches, down to your bones, and you’d kill to be touched—and other times you are sensitive in the wrong way, ready to scratch off your skin to dull it.

‘Mind if I take a nap with you?’ _What do you need, love?_ Roy knows how to tell off any bastard in seven languages, and wouldn’t hesitate to make his low opinion on them known—but love is hard to give voice to.

Innocence looks at him, eyes faded. There is colour on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat of the afternoon.

‘Yes. If you… I mean…’

Roy would admit it’s a bit of cheating on his side. Innocence can tell him to leave—but Roy thinks his boy is in the state to crave touch. But if he says that Roy might catch the cold, then it is admittance of the need for help…

Roy waits.

‘If you want,’ Innocence says. He’s closed his eyes again.

Roy leaves his sandals on the floor, gets on the bed. Presses himself to Innocence from behind, runs a hand down his shoulder. Innocence shivers: he’s guessed right about Innocence being the kind of sensitive to crave touch. Innocence is hot, not too much, but significantly.

Roy presses his lips to the nape of Innocence’s neck, rubs his stubbled cheek against it without applying too much pressure. Innocence shivers again.

‘Want a blanket?’ Roy asks.

‘No. No, thank you.’ Has he imagined it, or is there a scratch in Innocence’s voice?

He strokes his boy’s shoulder again. ‘Whatever you need, just tell us.’

‘I’ll have a nap and then go back to the garden.’

Roy moves his hand to Innocence’s waist. ‘Don’t worry about it. Tenacity and I will finish work. Rest.’ It can be just the cold—but he thinks it’s not.

He waits.

He waits.

‘Roy. Roy, do you think…’ Innocence’s voice is very quiet. His shoulder smells of the sun and the green things that thrive under his hands. ‘If I hadn’t gone to the front, would my parents…’

‘You were taken,’ he says to Innocence.

It comes up now and again. Innocence doesn’t forget.

‘And if you hadn’t been, who knows what would’ve happened to you during the arrests?’ He summons all the years of training, not only in Technomancy but in _being_ a Technomancer, to make his voice sound gentle, to not let anger and fear give it roughness. Because he hasn’t forgotten either, all those horrors he saw and heard about. What if. What if Innocence had been put among those poor bastards who were experimented on. What if Roy had chosen the Resistance. What if he hadn’t been able to buy Innocence out with his life.

He notices his hold on Innocence might be too tight, and eases out, strokes Innocence’s stomach. Innocence is here. Tenacity is here. They are alive. And as long as they breathe, Roy will protect them.

‘I thought I would see them,’ Innocence whispers, curling up upon himself, over Roy’s hand. ‘I wanted to go home, it kept me _sane_ …’ His breathing stutters wetly.

Roy slides his other arm under Innocence, and then Innocence turns to him, presses to his chest, and Roy closes his arms over his back.

‘How can I… Without them, I’m…’

Innocence is a trembling, small warmth in Roy’s arms, his cries rending Roy’s heart.

All that training, and fights—and what can he do?

He moves away slightly and takes Innocence’s face in his palms and presses his lips to Innocence’s forehead and says in the quiet, ‘Shadow give thee the dew of heaven and fatness of the earth, and plenty of grain and wine. Cursed be the one who curseth thee, and blessed be the one that blesseth thee.’

Innocence is silent, then sobs and presses his head to Roy’s shoulder, and Roy slides his hands on Innocence’s back again.

He doesn’t know how long they lie awake like that before Tenacity’s presence touches his awareness, and Tenacity’s voice calls with concern covered by a smile, ‘We are sleeping in a pile! I’m joining in.’

Innocence isn’t asleep, he moves with Roy to give Tenacity space, and Tenacity shrugs off his jacket, climbs on the bed, making it creak, making it so Innocence is framed between him and Roy.

Over Innocence’s head, Roy can see a question in Tenacity’s eyes. Roy shakes his head slightly. Tenacity’s hands move round Innocence, holding him at the waist as Roy strokes his back. Roy doesn’t mind that his hands are trapped between Innocence’s back and Tenacity’s warm chest.

‘We’re here, _calon bach_ ,’ Tenacity rumbles.

Even if Roy misses some clue, Tenacity can help him understand. Help him make things better for Innocence.

They have the duty to do better.


End file.
